


The Bolthole

by toooldtobeonhere



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Affairs, F/M, Hand Jobs, Sleepy Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-13
Updated: 2015-08-26
Packaged: 2018-04-14 14:07:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4567392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toooldtobeonhere/pseuds/toooldtobeonhere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and Tom look alike. Sherlock likes to sleep in Molly's bed. What could possibly go wrong??</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I always wondered why Molly and Tom broke up....
> 
> Note: Someone pointed out that I made a mistake with the timeline in this - and it's pretty obvious now - but I like it the way it is so just ignore it...sorry :(
> 
> Rated 'E' because I wanted to be on the safe side but its probably more of an 'M' - I'm happy to change it though. Comments always welcome! Come talk to me on tumblr - http://too-old-to-be-on-here.tumblr.com/
> 
> Un-beta'd so any mistakes are my own...sorry.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I OWN BUGGER ALL!

Sherlock slipped the key into the lock. He would have preferred to pick the lock, but after a dozen visits, she’d insisted on giving him a key. He knew she was on the night shift so he’d have at least 10 hours peace.

He can’t quite remember why he started using Molly’s flat as one of his boltholes. It probably started after he’d stayed there after the fall. Her flat was different from his. Lighter, airier, tidier; it made him feel lighter, airier, tidier too.  It was like holiday for his mind. He didn’t even mind the overabundance of ikea furniture. Except the futon in her spare room. That thing should have been declared a human rights violation by The Hague. So he’d started sleeping in her bed.

He had a routine when he visited her flat. Toby would normally greet him by snaking around his legs. He’d usually give in and give him a friendly scratch behind the ear. He’d typically shower next. Folding his clothes neatly on the chair next to her bad. Using her shampoo and soap felt intimate somehow. Their sweet fragrances were probably chosen to help mask the smells of the morgue.

Once dried he’d draw her curtains – blackout ones to help her sleep when she was on the nightshift - and climb into her bed, naked. He was secretly disappointed if she’d recently changed the sheets; they smelt of washing powder instead of her. He liked her smell better. He’d drift off quickly, his mind quiet for once. Occupied with thoughts of her.

* * *

 

Molly hurried to the tube station hoping not to miss the last train. Tom had been away for work for the last two weeks but she’d got a text earlier saying he’d managed to get an earlier flight and he’d meet her at her flat (followed by a wink emoji). She couldn’t wait to see him. She should have been working tonight but Mike let her swap.

She quietly slipped into the flat. It was dark and quiet. Molly worried for a second that he wasn’t here yet, when she spotted his long dark coat hanging up. She smiled devilishly, dumping her bag and coat next to it. She walked through the silent flat. Looking into the bathroom she saw that he’d had a shower; the glass still wet and a towel hung over the radiator. She switched the hall light on as she approached the bedroom. Surely he hadn’t gone to bed? Molly pushed the door open, letting the hall light spill over the bed. He had gone to bed. Her disappointment was defused when she took in the mop of dark curly hair peeking out from the top of the duvet. He’d been working so hard lately and he’d fallen asleep waiting for her. She felt a bloom of love in her chest. It took her by surprise. She loved Tom but he didn’t often arouse this type of feeling in her. This feeling was usually reserved for someone else. Sherlock’s image invaded her mind. No! She thought, he wouldn’t spoil this moment.

Back in the hall way, her phone vibrated. Its screen lit up with the name “Tom”.  It eventually went to voice mail.

_“Hi Molls. My flights been delayed a couple of hours but hopefully I’ll catch you before you go to bed. Sorry. Love you”._

Quietly stripping off her clothes, she dropped them on top of his on the chair. She pulled the tie from her hair and ran her fingers through it. Naked, she gently slipped under the covers.

Sherlock gasped softly as he felt a cool form press against his back. The body soon warmed up though and he allowed himself to press back against it – in his dreams he permitted himself to act in ways he would never do in real life.

Molly pressed herself to Tom’s sleeping form. She heard him inhale as she realised he too was naked and her body was considerably colder than his. She gently draped her arm over his waist as he pressed his arse against her stomach. Smiling she let his hair tickle her face. His hair had grown since he’d been away and he smelt like her shampoo. She kissed the nape of his neck.

Sherlock felt her warm breath on the back of his neck swiftly followed by her soft lips. This dream was unexpectedly realistic.

Molly traced her fingers in intricate patterns on his hip. He felt sturdier, less skinny than when he’d left. He’d mentioned that he’d taken advantage of the gym in his hotel to pass the time. It appeared to have paid off. Heat pooled in her belly.

Fingers stroked his hip. Sherlock felt himself grow hard. Sighing, he rolled onto his back.

Molly felt him turn over but it was still too dark to see his face. She wanted to switch the bed side light on, but she was enjoying things too much. Reaching round she gingerly grasped his cock. Semi hard already, she heard him groan. She ground her centre against his thigh, hoping the friction would satisfy her desire somewhat. She caressed him with her palm. It had been so long – he felt longer and heavier in her hand. She let out a whimper.

Sherlock’s dream was so lifelike. Sometimes when he slept in Molly’s bed, he would dream of her. Surrounded by her possessions, these dreams never surprised him. Ordinarily they’d be run-of-the-mill scenarios like working in the lab. Occasionally they’d be sexual, but nothing like this one.

Molly felt the roll his hips in sync with the pull of her fist, now wet with pre-cum. He was panting now, she knew he wouldn’t last much longer and although she’d love to see him come undone like this, she selfishly wanted him inside her. Slowing her strokes, she softly let him go, pressing her palm against his lower abdomen, feeling it rise and fall with his breathing. She let her hand trail up his body. The gym had definitely paid dividends. Molly’s fingers traced the indentations of his rectus abdominis muscle. As his breathing slowed, Molly’s fingers came to a halt in an indentation. For a moment she traced it – about the size of a 50 pence, the skin was rougher here – scar tissue. The pathologist in her kicked in – gunshot wound??

Molly stilled. Tom didn’t have a scar.  Tom had never been shot. She only knew one person who’d been shot.

Sherlock wavered between unconsciousness and consciousness as he felt fingers trace his stomach. It tickled slightly but it soon stopped when her fingers caressed his wound.

He suddenly felt cold as the warm body pressed against his pulled away. Abruptly his vision whited-out as the room was flooded in light. Sherlock heard her before he saw her.

Molly reached from the bedside lamp and screamed when her eyes adjusted. Sherlock flailed and backed away so abruptly that he misjudged how close he was to the edge of the bed. He tumbled out with a thud.

“Sherlock?!” he heard her say as she peeked over the edge; the duvet clutched tightly to her chest.

“Molly!?” he replied; brow furrowed in confusion.

The sound of a key in the lock startled them both

“Hey Molls. Sorry I’m late, that flight was a bloody nightmare!”

...


	2. The great escape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! Thanks for all the lovely comments and kudos you guys left on this story! (*blushing emoji*) 
> 
> It was only supposed to be a one-shot but I was encouraged to continue. So here is the fall out! 
> 
> NB - There's two versions of this chapter as I couldn't decide how to end it. I'll post the other soon! ;)

....“Hey Molls. Sorry I’m late, that flight was a bloody nightmare!”

Tom kicked the door closed with his foot, dumping his case unceremoniously in the hallway. He shrugged off his coat and hung it up next to a near identical one.

"You still up?" he called, wandering into the kitchen. He opened the fridge and looked for nothing in particular. He finally settled on a beer.

* * *

 

Molly and Sherlock stared towards the bedroom door as if by shear mental will alone they could make Tom disappear. The sound of him entering the kitchen, instead of heading straight for them, appeared to shake Sherlock out of his reverence.

In one swift move he got to his feet, any thoughts of shyness due to nakedness was gone. He vaulted over the bed (and in turn Molly who'd instinctively laid down) landing silently on her side and scooping up his clothes.

Crouching by the side of the bed he looked into her eyes and with a flick of his head (his normally immaculate curls in disarray - an image Molly would recall later) he gestured towards the door. Molly nodded, instinctively knowing what she was supposed to do. Dropping the covers, she stood quickly and retrieved her dressing gown from behind the door.

Even in his current state of panic, Sherlock realised this was the first time he'd seen her naked. An image he would recall later too.

* * *

 

"Hey you" she said entering the kitchen. "How was your flight?"

"Late" said Tom sardonically, turning and smiling. Taking a step towards her, he wrapped his arms around her waist. "Did I wake you?"

"No" she replied as he leant in for a kiss.

Sherlock could hear them talking but couldn't make out any words. He threw on his clothes as silently as possible. Holding his shoes in one hand he stood behind her door listening for his cue.

"No I was just reading" she said after they broke apart.

Tom turned towards the door.

"Wait!" said molly a little too loudly. Startled, Tom turned back "Come sit, tell me about your trip" added Molly, gesturing towards the sofa.

Sitting facing the door forced Tom to face the opposite way.

"Ok" he replied slightly confused.

Their voices became distant, indicating that they were in the living room. This was his cue. Sherlock pulled open the door just wide enough to slip through. Her flat was tiny and he knew he could cover the distance from her bedroom to the front door in 6 steps, however, it also meant passing the archway that separated her open plan lounge/kitchen from the rest of the flat. If Molly had picked up on his train of thought, she should have positioned Tom's back towards the door. There was only one way to find out.

Padding quietly in his socks, he peeked around the corner.

"...and then the bloody computers went down". Molly smiled and nodded at Tom's story, hoping to God he wasn't saying anything the required a reply as she wasn't listening to a word.

Movement caused her eyes to flick towards the doorway.

"Well I'm glad you're here now!" she said jovially grabbing Tom's face and kissing him passionately.

Sherlock covered the final few steps in seconds, pushing the handle down in one swift movement. He pulled it closed as far as he dared without catching the lock in case the noise gave him away. He crept down to the lobby before putting on his shoes. Only after pulling the heavy outer door closed did he breath. He gulped lungfuls of cool, damp night air. Tilting his head to the sky, he let the drizzly rain cool his face. It was then he realised he'd left his coat upstairs.

"Shit".


	3. Chapter 2.0

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternate ending to Chapter 1 of "The Bolthole" - Tom finds Molly and Sherlock together...naked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the final chapter of "The Bolthole". Its really chaper 2.0 as it's the alternative of Chapter 2.
> 
> Sorry its taken me ages to get it up - there was a death in the family :(
> 
> DISCLAIMER: Again I own nothing but it's not been beta'd so the mistakes are mine!

....“Hey Molls. Sorry I’m late, that flight was a bloody nightmare!”  


Tom kicked the door closed with his foot, dumping his case unceremoniously in the hallway. He shrugged off his coat and hung it up next to a near identical one.   


"You still up?" he called, wandering towards the bedroom; its light from the ajar door, the only illumination in the otherwise dark flat.

* * *

Molly and Sherlock stared towards the bedroom door as if by sheer mental will alone they could make Tom disappear. Although, almost paralysed with… (what? fear, anxiety. He wasn’t sure; this wasn’t his area) he knew that it took six strides to cross Molly’s hallway. Sherlock counted the footsteps (the moment seemed to stretch out infinitely). Tom was clearly distracted by some sort of task that was slowing his steps, but not slowing them enough.

Sherlock turned to look at Molly. She was still crouched on her knees in the middle of the bed, with the floral duvet clutched tightly to her breasts. With her dishevelled hair, milky white shoulders and arms and huge brown eyes she was almost too beautiful. He felt a pain in his chest. With one simple, selfish act he was about to ruin her life; a life she had cultivated in his absence. His fear and panic tuned into sorrow. He drew his knees up to his chest. He could easily take Tom in a fight but Sherlock knew that if he did that Molly would never speak to him again, and if a beating meant that wouldn’t occur, he would happily take it. As Sherlock wrapped his arms around his knees; an almost childlike posture, he kept his eyes on Molly.

Molly stared at the back of the bedroom door, she could hear Tom’s footstep in the hall; they sounded like a giant stomping down the corridor. She daren’t look at Sherlock but she could make out his movement in her peripheral vision, but he wasn’t preparing to stand, he seemed to be curling up into a ball next to the wall. Molly knew that Tom was no match for Sherlock; he could easily render Tom unconscious, if not actually kill him. “Please God don’t hurt him” she thought, with a telling unawareness of who “him” actually was; Sherlock or Tom?

Tom pushed open the door absentmindedly as he flicked through the mail in his hands he’d picked up from the table by the door.

“Hi” fell from his lips automatically, as he looked up at the scene in front of him. His fiancée knelt on their bed clearly naked under the duvet while an equally naked Sherlock Holmes sat against the wall.

* * *

 

His relationship with Molly flashed through his mind. They’d met at a friend’s birthday party. It had taken him days to pluck up the courage to ask for her number and even more days to actually text it. He was slightly surprised that she’d remembered him. Their first date had been at a Starbucks around the corner from his work. He loved that her personality’s lightness was in stark contrast to the darkness of her job, but her eyes lit up when she talked about it. She often forgot that other might not be as comfortable with descriptions of post-mortems as she was and would talk enthusiastically even as the colour drained from her audience’s faces.

It was about six months later that Tom found the box.

They’d booked their first holiday together – Greece – but the night before the flight Molly couldn’t find her passport. As she turned the kitchen and living room upside down, he searched the bedroom. He’d almost given up looking through the shoe boxes at the bottom of her wardrobe as most of them actually contained shoes. The last one he picked up was weighted differently. As Tom opened it he saw it was filled with photos and papers. The passport was bound to be in here. As he went through it, he slowly realised that this box was dedicated to one person. Newspaper clippings, photographs, notes, and most bizarrely; a death certificate, all pertained to one person; Sherlock Holmes.

“You found it?” Molly asked excitedly behind him before she noticed what he had in his hands. She snatched the box so hard that some of its contents spilled onto the floor. They crouched in silence as he helped her pick up the papers.

It wasn't until a few hours later that she confided in him that he was a friend that had died. Tom felt bad that he had felt a pang of jealousy as he went through the box. As the months (and their relationship) progressed, he almost forgot all about the box and Sherlock Holmes. His name sometimes cropped up, usually when Molly was telling a funny story about work, but her usually soft, cheerful face became dark and brooding at the mention of his name so Tom never brought him up.

Tom was at work when a BBC news alert on his phone caught his attention. “Detective, Sherlock Holmes, who ‘died’ in 2012, found alive”. He immediately texted Molly

_Have you seen the news?! X_

He only had to wait a few seconds for a reply.

_Yes xxx_

Her terse reply, brought the pang of jealously back. But it wasn’t until a few weeks later that he’d met Sherlock Holmes. They were having dinner one Friday night, when she said nonchalantly;

“Oh, Mary invited us round for some drinkies to celebrate her and John’s engagement tomorrow. You up for it?”

“Sure” he said swallowing “at their place?”

“No, Baker Street. You’ll get to meet everyone, Mrs Hudson, Greg, Sherlock” she said happily.

“Great!” he replied.

Molly let herself into Baker Street – clearly they were really good friends – and made her way up the stairs, looking back over her shoulder and smiling reassuringly at him.

“Hi everyone. This is Tom” she said. Four faces smiled back at him.

“Hi” he said nervously as the dark figure by the window turned. His smiling face (directed at Molly, Tom noticed) dropped as he looked him up and down and shook his hand.

 _Hmmm, he’s not as tall as I assumed_ thought Tom meanly.

* * *

 

“Tom” Molly said, her voice quiet and wavering as he dropped the mail at his feet.

His eyes flicked between the pair.

“It’s not what it looks like” said Molly softly, the clichéd words almost embarrassing her, but the words themselves were true.

He turned on his heel and walked back to the front door. He could barely hear Molly’s shouted “wait” as he picked up his coat and keys. Part of him wanted to slam the door (it was the same part of him that wanted to smash Sherlock’s face in) but the self-preservation part of him took over again, and closed it quietly behind him.

Once outside he let the drizzly rain cool his embarrassed face. Part of him expected a half-dressed Molly to come running down the stairs after him, but after a minute standing in the street, he realised that she wasn’t coming. He threw his coat on and pushed his arms into the sleeves…which ended half-way up his forearms.

He’d taken the wrong coat.

“Shit”.

 

 

 

 


End file.
